MTL - Open a Clinic to Cultivate Myself - Chapter 1209 The weirdest thing in history

Lin Yuan, carrying the “Door to Myriad Worlds,” transmigrated into the Great Universe of the Starry Sea.Here, the mightiest could obliterate star systems with the flick of a finger, and traverse millions of light-years in an instant.As a bottom-dweller, Lin Yuan could only rely on the “Door to Myriad Worlds” and his innate talent, “Against-Heaven’s Understanding,” to travel through countless worlds, silently growing stronger.【Your Against-Heaven’s Understanding allows you to cultivate the Muscle-Tenden Transformation Bible, comprehending the ‘Muscle-Tendon Transformation Blood Tempering Divine Technique’】【Your understanding is Heaven-Against, upon extending your comprehension to the Thunder in the Palm, results in the mastery of the ‘Thunder Creation Opening Technique’】【Your understanding is Heaven-Against, while observing the birth and death of worlds, leads to the insight of the ‘World in the Palm’】【Your understanding is Heaven-Against,, through studying the art of external incarnations, culminates in the ‘Self-Transformation Great Technique’】……In his unending travels, Lin Yuan ceaselessly grew stronger, until… he was unrivaled across all worlds.

The world has turned into a hell, a place where the strong thrive!

In a world where humans and werewolves coexists peacefully, there’s a young human girl named Angel, who wants nothing more in life than to become a Nun of the holy church.But on the day of her Ordination, disaster strikes, and her already sad life takes a rocky turn down the hill…How would she survive this terrible fate??

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”